


i'm not the villain

by thorsbruce



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: anti-government, because i love them, i tried to depict how i felt bruce would feel when turning into hulk, it's ugly and cruel, the hulkfams in this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23980981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorsbruce/pseuds/thorsbruce
Summary: His hands began to grow bigger, and greener, and uglier. Always ugly. He felt ugly in every sense of the term; his body grew to a grotesque mass of pure green muscle, he had no control, he could never stop the rage that flowed through the monster’s green veins, he could never feel safe around anyone.He couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself, as he closed his eyes and let the beast take over.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	i'm not the villain

**Author's Note:**

> first time uploading a fic that's not a ship ! originally this was supposed to be much longer, but i capped it due to major writer's block. in saying that, i'm still super proud of what i've achieved

Bruce felt the cold of the tiles sting his hands and knees. A sound, somewhat resembling both a scream and groan of pain, left his mouth and echoed through the empty room. The room was his, but to another person’s eyes, it would be thought to not be lived in. No furniture besides a worn out bed, and certainly no accessories or flashy items. It was convenient for a man who never stopped running. After all, he was a fugitive of the American government. 

That was a lie. It wasn’t his room. It wasn’t even his house. Bruce didn’t even know what state of America he was currently situated in; all he knew is that no one was living in this house, which meant he could rest there for a night. Or maybe two.

The static in his head grew fonder and fonder, making Bruce move his hands to tug at his hair, wanting to rip his brain out of his skull. He could feel it pulsating, his skull starting to expand with such movements he thought being decapitated would be more pleasant than this process. His eyes burned, and he could feel his eyes changing colour and intensity. He let out another loud scream, his failing attempt to remain himself. His chest ached as it began to increase in size, to which a stray tear left his green eye. He watched as the buttons of his shirt flew off, almost as if they were scared of the being he was turning into. His shirt ripped at the seams, and he felt the comfort of normality leave his body as he lost his lower half and torso to the side of him he hated.

His hands began to grow bigger, and greener, and _uglier_. Always ugly. He felt ugly in every sense of the term; his body grew to a grotesque mass of pure green muscle, he had no control, he could never stop the rage that flowed through the monster’s green veins, he could never feel safe around anyone. He couldn’t help but feel sorry for himself, as he closed his eyes and let the beast take over.

The last thing to come back to Bruce was always his brain. _Maybe because Hulk never used it_ , Bruce laughed bleakly. His eyes were second last to come back to him. He would wake up, and could sense his body laying worthlessly on a pile of rubble in some city he didn’t know. His body would always feel like lead, like Hulk had a foot on him, stopping him from getting up, from moving on. His breathing would start to become rapid and irregular, and he would start to freak out when his vision came back - only for it to be smothered in green. No matter the number of times this happened, the inability to move after coming back always scared the small doctor. Being unable to see the world properly for a couple of seconds didn’t comfort him very much. He could feel his eyes moving around, to sense, to see, something that wasn’t green. To see the sky and know he was okay. But the green fogged his eyes until he closed them and finally opened them once more. His rational thoughts would then begin to return to him, telling him to calm down, to relax his muscles for a minute, and then attempt to get out of there. However, his body was not willing to comply. He felt the familiar burn rise up his throat, and he weakly turned his head to the side to let out the vomit that demanded him to feel even worse than before. Once he was done, he let his head fall back to where it was, with a loud thud. It hurt. Bruce wasn’t sure if he really cared if it would do any damage.

He was in a world of pain. His world was pain. He had never known any different. From the moment he was born, someone in his life was always trying to stop him, to kill him. First his dad, then General Ross, then Abomination, then The Leader, then even his Avenger’s teammates. The pain sat with him comfortably; he had accepted it.

He got up. He always did. He struggled, his weak arms barely able to cast himself up, but he got up. One hand held on to his pants that were way to big for his skinny waist, and he began to walk away from the spot he had woken up from. _That’s gonna be a lot to clean up_ , he thought, _especially the vomit_. His wandering was aimless, the only destination was: out of there. The military would soon find the havoc left and would be following it to him. He couldn’t stay for long.

There was a loud hovering sound above him, and he knew he had wasted too much time trying to recover. Ross had found him, ready to cage him up and experiment on him as much as his putrid heart desired. The speed of the blades slashing through the air were like a teacher running her fingernails down the chalkboard. The wind ruffled his hair, and he hoped that perhaps Ross himself wouldn’t be on board the helicopter.

_Run_. That was the automatic response Bruce had for any scenario. To run away, to hide. It never failed in being the safest and secure option. The only thing Bruce could ever really do was run. But his legs hurt. His whole body was raked in pain that felt unending. _Maybe if I just walk fast_. . .

Bruce decided that today, he would not run. His body might give up on him if he does. His assurance of knowing his immortality did very little to make him feel better; he still felt like death was coming to eat him up. Perhaps that was not a bad thing for the scientist per say, perhaps he would prefer for death to wrap it’s arms around him and swallow him whole.

He turned back to the helicopter and looked up, giving into the feeling of shame and lack of control that would be turning into the Hulk for the second time today. He stared into the cockpit, to see how many military men he would ultimately have to take down. He started to laugh.

“Jen?” He managed to yell out, to allow his voice to be louder than the wind. A dry laugh escaped his throat, although caution still ran thick in his blood.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He asked, a slight smile slithering it’s way on to his face. Seeing Jennifer patrolling the helicopter produced a sensation beyond relief in him.

“I could ask you the same thing,” she proclaimed, and set the helicopter to rest on the ground. Climbing out of her seat, she joined her cousin on the ground. She slapped him across the cheek before pulling him in for a hug.

“That was for abandoning us,” she whispered the next part, “but mainly for abandoning me.” Bruce wanted to answer her, to say _I didn’t want to abandon you, but there was no other way. I could only run_ , but the words could not escape his dry mouth. As she departed from their embrace, she looked at him expectantly.

“I’m sorry Jen,” was the most he could manage to get out. His eyes diverted to behind her, where he noticed rustling and movement. Shortly, a group of people too large to look human piled out of the helicopter. They stood at Jen’s side and Bruce wasn’t sure if he started to cry because he was happy to see them or because he felt guilty.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, “I’m so so sorry.” He launched towards his son, Skaar, who was currently towering over him. His son was not the affectionate type, a trait he earned from his father, but Bruce was uncaring, his arms wrapping around pure muscle.

“I know you used to hate me,” Bruce told him, _and you probably still do_ , “and given that you aren’t accustomed to my ways, I know you’re angry at me. For leaving. Not only as Green Scar, but also as Banner.” The silence left in the air told Bruce that he had said enough to his son, so he ceased his one sided hug and threw a huge smile towards his best friend.

“Since when were you the hugging type?” Rick Jones laughed lazily, in a way only Rick Jones could. His laugh was unforced; it was natural, but it had a hint of childhood innocence (granted, he was still only 20), mixed with sarcasm that Bruce was very comfortable with, as well as the additional Rick Jones charm and humour.

“I know,” Bruce answered, “surprised even myself. What are you guys doing here?” He looked to see Korg standing next to Rick, who had been silent through this encounter.

“Looked like you were in trouble, buddy,” Korg pitched in with a simple shrug of the shoulders. “You always look like that though. We’ve been following you for some hours.” Unimpressed, Bruce’s glaze hardened on Jen.

“You were following me? So loyal,” his eyes rolled as he awaited an explanation.

“Korg’s lying, but you know that,” Jen commented, lightly hitting Bruce’s right arm. “We were in the area, and I wanted to make sure you were okay. Skaar was bored so we raided the Gamma Base,” Jen said casually, “now it’s ours. I’m not sure that was the best idea; Ross will probably come back for revenge.” She stopped and stared at Skaar. “But sometimes Skaar’s too determined to invite chaos that we can’t stop him.”

“Of course he is,” Bruce smiled at that, in his proud father smile. “He learnt from the best. I trained him to do that.”

“No you didn’t,” Skaar protested. “I already knew how to do that. It’s my thing, father.”

“Okay, it was you and me both,” Bruce said and watched Skaar roll his eyes.

Reluctant to admit it, afraid of both the playful ridicule he would receive from his family, as well as the vulnerability he would be admitting, Bruce felt himself endeared to his clique; they were a glimmer of hope in a pit of darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!!!! hope i did them justice because. they deserve it. also, i've got some ideas for some more thorbruce fics so when i get time i think i'm going to get back into writing
> 
> let me know what you think of this and if i should do any continuations of some sort :)
> 
> pls comment or i'll cry super hard


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